“I’m not going to work there for the rest of my life, Mom.”
“What,” she scoffed, “are you going to be an artist?”
“Now, Linda,” my dad said, trying to calm her. “Sam is working. Two jobs, no less. We should cut her some slack.”
That sort of surprised me. He was usually on Mom’s side.
“No, Bill. Your daughter is making terrible choices. And you know what? I bet it’s that Christos character.”
“I don’t think—” my dad said.
My mom interrupted him. “It is him, isn’t it, Sam?”
I was shocked into silence.
“I’m right,” Mom said. “I knew it. He’s filling your head with all these crazy ideas about being an artist, isn’t he, Samantha?”
“No!” I protested. I pushed back my chair from my dining room table and began pacing the living room. I felt like I was suddenly on dangerous ground, and wanted to move, like I needed to run away from my parents. What else was new? Sigh.
My mom’s tone suddenly went friendly, which scared me. “Samantha, are you telling me that you’re no longer seeing Christos? Or have you found some other boy to waste your time on?”
“No! I mean, yes, I’m still seeing Christos!”
My mom chuckled throatily. “That’s what I thought. Bill, your daughter is spending so much time with this boy Christos, she’s lost her head. I knew it was going to happen sooner or later.”
There was something so disgusting about the way my mom had said it, like she was calling me a dirty harlot, just because I was in love. There was nothing dirty about my relationship with Christos. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Mom,” I growled.
“I don’t?” she chuckled.
“Calm down, both of you,” my dad said in an even tone. “Whether or not Sam is dating anyone is not what’s at issue. Sam has shown initiative, Linda. She has secured two jobs and is paying her bills. As long as she keeps her grades up, her personal life is irrelevant.”
Geez, did my dad think I was a robot? A computer to be programmed and set about a specific task? The way he’d called my personal life “irrelevant” spoke volumes. Groan. At least he was getting my mom off my back.
“Further,” Dad continued, “there’s no sense in her withdrawing from her current classes this late in the term, only to have to repeat them later. Sam, can you apply both your Oil Painting and Figurative Sculpting credits toward your General Education requirements?”
“Yeah,” I muttered.
“Excellent. I believe that, when combined with Figurative Drawing from last quarter, you will have completed your Humanities series, correct?” Dad was on the ball, as always.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Good,” my dad continued, “do you know if Managerial Accounting will be available next term? Or is it only offered once per academic year?”
“I don’t know,” I groaned. I didn’t care either.
“Can you check?” he asked.
“I guess,” I moaned. All I wanted to do was get my parents off my back for the evening. I’d had enough of them.
“If all goes as planned,” my dad said in a positive tone, “you can register for the appropriate classes for Spring Quarter and resume your Accounting curriculum. Then you will be back on track to complete your major in four years.”
That was my parents. Making plans for me without asking how I felt about them. I was so done with this conversation.
“Do you find that acceptable, Linda?” my dad asked.
My mom sighed on the other end of the phone. “As long as she follows through, I’m fine with it,” she said to my dad. “But if we find out you have not changed your major back to Accounting, Samantha, your father and I will be having a very long discussion about whether or not we should continue paying for your education at SDU at all.”
She let that sink in.
“Fine,” I said. Were we done yet?
“And if I find out your grades are slipping because you’re spending too much time with that Christos,” Mom hissed, “rest assured, young lady, there will be hell to pay.”
“Your mother is right, Sam,” my dad said. “We’re not funding your stay at SDU so you can meet young men. You’re there to procure a degree. Period. You will have plenty of time for men when you are older.”
“Fine,” I spat. “Can I go so I can finish my dinner now?” I sounded whiny. I didn’t care.
“Yes,” my dad said curtly.
“Bye,” I sing-songed sarcastically.
“Good night,” my dad said.
“Remember what I said, Samantha Anna Smith,” my mom hissed. “Hell to pay.”
I thought to myself, Wow, I love you too, Mom.
When they didn’t say anything else, I rolled my eyes and pressed END on my phone and dropped it on my coffee table.
What was it with my parents both talking like they were minions of Satan? Or Satan himself? Which led me to the obvious question, did Satan have a wife? And was she the one in charge of the whole operation?
I didn’t know, but if Satan’s wife was anything like my mom, I was convinced she ran the show.
Whatever.
I glanced at my scrumptious Roberto’s Carne Asada burrito on the kitchen table.
My appetite was gone.
Thanks, Mom and Dad.
SAMANTHA
The next afternoon, I was back behind the counter for another brain-draining shift at Grab-n-Dash. I did my best to keep a smile on my face.
Sadly, as usual, this job and my neon-urine hot-dog-smelling uniform reminded me of all the things going wrong in my life. Yes, many things were going right, like in the Christos department, but a lot of it was Groansville.
I was pretty sure my History and Sociology grades were slipping further, and I was tired all the time. How was I going to get my grades up if I was too tired to concentrate?
Worse, my parents had become complete strangers. I mean, like, worse than they’d ever been in the past. Maybe because I’d always followed their rules. Now that I was making choices for myself, it had become clear they didn’t understand me at all. They didn’t realize that Accounting had always been the wrong place for me. Why couldn’t they see that?
When it came to my love for Christos, I was certain my mom and dad couldn’t even begin to understand. They didn’t have what Christos and I had. To me, they seemed like loveless roommates.
But Christos and I were in love.
Deeply in love.
Couldn’t my parents at least respect that, even if they didn’t understand it?
I wanted to live my life my way, not theirs.
Thinking about it any further was going to make me either throw up or break down in tears. Sadly, neither would set the right mood when a customer came in and I needed to say, “Welcome to Grab-n-Dash. How can I brighten your day?”
I tried to block everything out and focus on work.
Fortunately, it wasn’t long before the afternoon rush kicked in, distracting me from my gloomy mood. Customers rolled through the doors every thirty seconds. I generally had a line of people three-deep waiting to pay.
I was so busy cashing out the customers, I was surprised when I looked up into the eyes of Tiffany Shithouse-Mousetrap. For once, she smiled.
“You’ve finally found your calling, haven’t you?” she gloated while looking me over. “Nice baseball cap and matching shirt. The yellow goes with your teeth.” She held a 32 ounce cup of soda in her hand.
“Welcome to Grab-n-Dash. How can I brighten your day?” I winced as I said it.
Tiffany looked at me with rampant superiority. I saw the wheels behind her eyes turning. “You want to brighten my day? How about this?” She peeled the lid off her 32 ounce cup of cola.